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“And he has kids,” my son stated.

“Three. Young ones.”

“So now I have to share my inheritance with a bunch of brats.”

“Reuben.” I sighed, and he just laughed. “What inheritance? My collection of fine socks and teacups?”

“Dad, it’s fine. Just a bit of a shock. I need to let this one settle. My God, my dad is gay. Who would have thought?”

“Well, Mabel wasn’t too shocked,” I pointed out.

“You told Mabel?” He actually looked frightened now. “And they were fine with all this? When the hell did you see Mabel?”

“Well…” I smiled. “I can tell you some stories.”

So, I did.

18. Dylan

The house was dark and quiet, and where I’d felt so hopeful and alive earlier, my mind was slipping back into that familiar, dark, deep hole.

I couldn’t even explain it. I sat on my bed, rocking gently back and forth. Perhaps I had finally lost my mind, imagined it all, when life had truly kicked me in the face.

Stewart didn’t need me. He now had his family back, and I was, once again, alone.

Discarded.

Useless.

I tried to hug myself, digging my fingernails deep into the skin of my arms. This…this was not good. I was suddenly back in a state of mind where I didn’t feel safe, where anything could go wrong if I didn’t control my impulses. The inner voices would tell me to do things. To hurt. Try to convince me that pain was good.

It wasn’t, and this wasn’t right.

This was me being absolutely ridiculous. I should really go pull the curtains open and let in some air instead of hiding.

I could hear children outside. I’d bet he was sitting on his patio, watching them play, maybe even with a cup of tea in his hand. I didn’t dare look outside, hiding here like the fool I was.

I was clutching my phone, and I didn’t quite know why, but I held on. Kept opening up the screen, hoping there would be something, anything to distract me.

I looked at my daughter’s number on WhatsApp, opened her profile photo and smiled at her gorgeous face. I’d taken that photograph a few years back. I wondered why she still kept it and didn’t change it for a newer shot.

She was older now. Wiser. Different. Still my Constance.

I tried to stroke her face through the screen as I somehow connected an incoming call.

Damn. Unknown number.

I tried to hang up but couldn’t. A voice was clearly calling my name through the static, and I sat here—useless, ridiculous.

“Hello?” I croaked out, trying to swallow.

“Dylan.”

Veronica. Oh, what the fuck now? For fuck’s sake.

“Hi,” I managed to get out. At least she wasn’t on video call, because I didn’t think I would be able to handle that.

“Put your camera on,” she demanded.